


Queen of Spades

by Sarcastic_Meep



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Meep/pseuds/Sarcastic_Meep
Summary: Being important is very dependent on one's situation. Many find themselves to hold importance through capability or skill. Much like those who have some of the more mundane occupations. Perhaps someone in a settlement is good at electrical work and figures out how to get the flickering light in the bar working. Perhaps a farmer is exceptionally good at sowing seeds and applying just the right amount of water to be efficient.Then there are those who find importance through their knowledge and understanding, much like the Followers of the Apocalypse. They find importance through helping those in need and headlining medicinal research in this dark day and age.Then there are those like her. A person who's importance seems to fluctuate depending on time and place. A drifter, a Courier. Sometimes, many only find them important when their needs intertwine with their skill set or niche knowledge of the world around them.What makes people like her so important, is that they alwaysfindways to be important. People like her are important, because they're the ones who stories are written about.





	Queen of Spades

**Author's Note:**

> Summaries are fun. Not really, but we're not here about that.
> 
> Regardless, hello and welcome to this little(?) piece of fiction. Earlier in the year, I had gotten back into playing New Vegas and had an exceptional time after a few years and basically forgetting about everything. After a bit, I went through "The Lonesome Road" and had an experience that spurred me on to write my first posted fic.
> 
> After posting that first piece, it suddenly felt like a dam that had been built over the years had burst; creative ideas swarmed and eventually became incredibly overwhelming, to the point where indecisiveness came to the forefront of the mind. Too many goals and ideas came out with trying to make what is now _this_ fic. Six months of constant writing and deleting before I found a story line I liked and an ending I was happy with. Fallout Shelter also helped in that regard, because it gave me a setting to be shown and a possible catalyst for the Courier.
> 
> I guess I should also mention that this is a sort of pseudo AU, considering nobody really knows what the Courier goes on to do after New Vegas. Hope you enjoy.

The soft sound of ticking caused nerves to fray in the quiet night, an unsettling atmosphere descending upon the dilapidated structure. She remembers stories from her mother and partner about a city of old world legend far to the East; a city that supposedly never slept; a city that could’ve once rivaled empires in size and population; a city that, to the opposition of many, was considered to be a beacon of freedom and peace.

All she sees instead is the decaying husk of something that might have once been great; a broken and decrepit corpse of what simply was. The city that never slept, now lays in an everlasting slumber beneath fresh fallen blankets of snow, cold and unfeeling. Small white specks float freely with the whistle of wind, resembling ash as if the bombs dropped anew.

Locals had called it the “Empire City”. She wasn’t sure if these ruins she sat upon were befitting of that title anymore.

The crunching of snow abruptly steals the woman’s attention, her anti-material rifle raised in response. She crouched beside the wall that still stood despite the gaping hole spanning a couple stories in height nearby. Her rifle peeked out, the height of the opening providing the woman with an effective advantage, specifically regarding sight lines.

Through the scope, she watched three suits of power armor patrol the streets, an almost leisurely pace set between them. The woman held down the urge to scoff at the arrogant pricks , the scope of the rifle eyeing one of the suit’s fusion cores. How easy it would be to simply cause its meltdown and subsequent detonation...

With a deep breath, the woman closed her eye before discarding that thought. Blowing her troop’s cover over an annoyance would only serve to be fatal and pointless; while they were a threat to many— including those who employed her— they weren’t threatening to expose her, or her current group of scouts at the moment. As such, she simply continued to watch the Brotherhood Knights as they roamed. Once out of view, she turned from the streets, looking away from her rifle.

Backing away from the large opening quietly, as to not disturb those below, the Courier carefully placed her rifle against the intact wall nearby before retaking her original position, returning her attention back to her surroundings.

A soft flickering of light danced along the very edge of her vision, the wall outside of her broken doorway coated in a dimmed light belonging to a fire nearby. Full enough to provide the warmth necessary to sleep, but dim enough to not be easily noticeable from the outside.

The thought of warmth was welcoming, a thick trail of steam rolling from the filters of her helmet as she sighs. The NCR soldiers would always complain about the Mojave heat, yet she’s convinced that the coastline winters of the northeast were far, far worse. At least the NCR didn’t have to worry about frozen water supplies.

A set of footsteps approached the ruined doorway, drawing the woman’s attention from the outside world. Through the broken entryway ducked a man in thick rags constituting as clothing, armor that had certainly seen many better days, and a weathered duster turned an almost pale cream color instead of the usual brown that she was accustomed to seeing. He lowered his hood as he stood fully in the room, revealing a dark skinned face that had seen plenty of years and a scraggly white beard. The low-light vision of her helmet’s lens kicked in at the loss of ambient light, dulling out the colors of the world completely; everything settling into a neutral spectrum of black, grey, and white.

“Our forward scouts returned with some interesting news.” The sound of rustling papers filled the air as the man stared down at a series of reports in his hands. “Sounds like the Brotherhood have fully decided to set up their home at Governor’s Island. That behemoth of a flying machine seems to have stationed itself over the top.” The man walked further into the room, looking out to the opposite building from the large chunk missing from their own. “A couple of our scouts managed to intercept information on their current plans. Sounds like we’re going to be seeing a lot more of those smaller, faster fliers in the air for a long while.”

The woman shook her head as she laid it against the wall behind her. She never wanted to be a part of whatever this all was, whether it was supposed to be the Brotherhood attempting to confiscate technology unfairly, or the selective purging of old world technology didn’t matter. It looked, felt, and even sounded like another war that she’d have to fight.

Why is it that she keeps stumbling upon these ridiculous situations, and why does it happen so damn often?

“Queeny,” the woman’s eye snaps back to the old man before narrowing in annoyance: all of this hidden behind the single remaining red lens of the helmet. “Is there anything, now that you have this information, that you’d like to do?”

What a damn good question to be asking. This Brotherhood was large, much larger than what she experienced both in the West and Midwest. Weren’t they supposed to be bred into the fold, born from parents who served? Veronica’s descriptions and tellings played through her mind.

This new, expansive, and militaristic organization did nothing to remind her of the conservative and stubborn Western Chapter. She doesn’t even realize that she’s shaking her head in annoyance.

Memories of playing chess with a man with greying hair and a soft smile played through her mind. More specifically, how she’d always hear ‘checkmate’ in his voice before seeing what was her king get taken. She only ever managed to beat him once, and that was the last time she’d actually seen him. This “war” felt an awful lot like all of those other games that didn’t end in her favor. Struggling, grasping at any shred of hope that she thought available only for it to consistently be ripped from out in front of her. Who ever was on the other side of the table in this proverbial game, was always a step ahead of her and the vault’s Overseer. 

She was really beginning to miss that giant unpredictable factor in her life that was Veronica. As difficult as it was to plan for what the woman did, it was infinitely easier to plan around her instead.

How the hell did she become so reliant on that woman?

“Prepare a runner for the morning,” her voice floats out from her helmet, distorted slightly by the object and filter. “I’ll have an updated map with patrol routes for the Overseer come sunrise.” Her voice sounds so sure of itself, yet she can’t help the gnawing feeling in the back of her mind; the feeling of being corralled and trapped. Her head turns completely so that she may look out the building with her eye.

“If I may, ma’am, perhaps it’ll do you some good to get some rest.” Her head turned back towards the dark skinned man, the silence between them seeming to urge him on, “You haven’t slept much since you’ve arrived a month ago, and I fear that, while you may be keeping your wits about you, you’re running yourself ragged.”

She hasn’t been that bad, has she? Her body certainly seems sluggish compared to its capabilities when she first arrived, however she’s pretty sure everyone else feels just the same. This is, after all, a pseudo war. Although, now that he mentions it, coming up with ideas and strategies has become more difficult lately, let alone her mind involuntarily wondering more often than usual. Perhaps she should…

No! Absolutely not! The Brotherhood has been nothing but aggressive during her time in this damn city! To even contemplate the idea of resting when there’s far more work to be done in this conflict is abominable! Every day, they waste is a day that her opponent gets further ahead. She needs to rally and gain on them again! She needs to- wait, she’s been here a month?

“I’ll think on it.” Perhaps she should entertain the idea of resting after she finished the most recent rendition of the map. These patrol routes and areas of Brotherhood interest weren’t going to document themselves. Her eye returned to gazing towards the streets, watching the three hulking metal suits make their way towards the broken Empire building.

She heard the sigh from behind her, the man’s own annoyance likely beginning to show. Turning back towards the man, she watched him pinch at the bridge of his nose, likely staving off a headache of her unintentional doing. His mouth opened and moved, however she didn’t expect to hear Veronica’s voice in her ears.

_“Just make sure to take care of yourself.”_ She shook her head, the voice dissipating shortly after before returning her attention to the dark skinned man. “Pardon?”

“I said, Wade’ll be around in half an hour to take over the watch.” The woman nodded lightly in acknowledgement, still reeling from the sudden voice before. Maybe getting some rest wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

The dark-skinned man sighed as the Courier returned to her watch, noticing the half-hearted searching for any patrols or scouts that should happen to pass. Figuring that there was nothing more for him to do, he quietly removed himself from the room, leaving the woman to her thoughts.

Said thoughts were anger filled and self-deprecating. Strongly worded responses towards her negligence in favor of whatever mess she found herself in. She was heavily annoyed with herself, until shame rose up at the question she couldn’t help but ask. 

_“What would Veronica say if she saw you now?”_

She wasn’t happy with the honest answers she gave.

* * *

The large room was warm, in comparison to her sniper’s nest. The smoldering ruins of what was likely wood and tinder gave off a dim glow, the heat of the now dissipated fire lingering in response. Said heat warding off the horrid chill the Courier wasn’t aware of herself until she entered the hub of the camp. Seems like someone was always looking out for her, whether it was in the middle of a battle, or when she didn’t recognize the limits she was likely passing regarding her body.

Another woman walked into the room, their movement catching her attention. She placed something dry into the pile of ashes and smoldering ruin before pulling out a lighter and rekindling the flame.

The blaze started out small, barely providing more light than what the previous flames produced, but eventually the other woman nursed them enough to brighten the room to the point in which the helmet’s low light vision switched off.

Taking off the object in response, the Courier winced as the mask hissed loudly, unfastening from the cap. She quickly took the device off, letting shoulder length black hair fall freely. The other woman took to looking at her, the sound of the object likely drawing her attention. She’d be surprised if it didn’t attract the attention of everyone else in the room.

The Courier was unsurprised to find the woman shamelessly staring at the piece of black cloth wrapped around her head, covering her left eye. She seemed unfazed by what she saw, simply offering a simple nod and quiet “Ms. Dunn” instead.

It felt nice to not be gawked at by someone who understood nothing of her struggle, if the woman’s gloved hand was anything to go off of.

_“Does it still hurt?”_ Veronica’s voice plays through the Courier’s mind again, as if memories were slowly bleeding into reality. She can almost swear that she feels the light pressure of an unsure hand slowly sliding over the cloth covering. Closing her eye, the memory takes form again; vibrant, as if it were happening all over again. If she remembers correctly, she responds with-

_“It’s manageable.” The annoyance playing across Veronica’s face in response is memorable in its own right. The flush across her face seems to say plenty about how much she disapproves of the answer._

_“Charlie!” The shove to her shoulder causes laughter to bubble from the Courier as she falls back on the bed, her carefree mood coming to the forefront in their motel room. “Why aren’t you taking this seriously?! Gannon went out of his way to produce something for this!” She can tell Veronica is upset, however she can’t help but feel happy to experience this all._

_She wasn’t sure if she’d experience anything again after the dam. To say that she was feeling euphoric would be an understatement._

_“‘Ronica, trust me. I’m taking this as seriously as I can at the moment.” The statement was made with a hint of laughter bubbling beneath. Veronica’s glare intensified in response, obviously not amused. She continued to sit in front of her on the bed, arms crossed in waiting. Finding the sight humorous, the Courier to choked out another bit of laughter before waving towards the bathroom. Veronica, clearly annoyed, left to fetch the item in question._

_Truth be told, the Courier wanted nothing to do with Gannon’s concoction. It’s not that she didn’t trust the man, far from it, but it’s more that she’s never seen anything like his ‘ointment’. She’s used to stimpacks, pills, and blood transfusions. Not creams meant to heal burns and sensitive scar tissue._

_She returned shortly after her departure, a small cylindrical case held firmly in her hands. The glint of the metal caught the Courier’s eye as the former-scribe walked into the room-proper. Her mood soured visibly at the sight of the damned thing. Veronica’s own expression seemed to change in response, from half-hearted annoyance to mild concern._

_“Would it be easier if I applied it instead?” She would prefer to not have it applied at all; it was bad enough that the cloth around her head made it hard to act normal as it was. She’d rather walk out into the desert and wastes with her helmet on at all times instead._

_Knowing Veronica, she wouldn’t get five steps out of the motel (let alone the bed) without applying the damn ointment. With a resigned sigh, the Courier hung her head lazily, waiting for the other woman to get the process over with._

_Calloused hands softly applied pressure at her chin, almost as if pleading for the Courier to look up. She gave in rather quickly and regretted it. Dark brown eyes looked softly into her own grey eye, instilling a relaxing feeling of safety. The Courier hated how easily that woman could break through her guard._

_Hands slowly slid up her face and she couldn’t help but add how much she loved it at the same time._

_The callouses contrasting and exaggerating the softness of her hands sent the Courier’s mind into a comfort filled state. A finger slipped beneath the black cloth, brushing one of the many small scars hiding underneath._

_Pain mildly streaked around the left side of her head, the wince causing the offending digit to hesitate before slipping out from beneath the covering. Instead, she felt the digits move to the side of her head, the small knot holding the cloth in place quickly coming undone._

_Slowly, the cloth was unraveled, freeing up pressed hair and scarred skin to the Mojave’s night time air. The Courier opened her eye after feeling the last of the cloth fall away, not realizing that she had closed it in the first place. Single grey sought out both dark browns, looking for anything akin to reassurance. What she found instead was curious and examining eyes, as if she were inspecting a piece of technology._

_She wanted to make an apple and tree joke, but found the implication to be inappropriate in this scenario. The Brotherhood never seemed all that interested in technology that enhanced or even replaced flesh and bone._

_“EDI, be a dear and turn on the radio?” The former scribe’s soft voice surprised the Courier, the eye immediately shifting from Veronica’s eyes over to her mouth which was now pursed in concentration. A soft beeping noise emanated from the resting eye-bot before one of the more often played songs filled the air. Fingers softly dusted over the multitude of scars, small flares of pain following in their wake. “Sorry, I figured you could use a distraction of some kind…”_

_The former scribe’s eyes were staring at her single eye now, an apologetic smile gracing her lips. She never understood how someone could be so damn caring after all their time in the wastes._

_In response, the Courier simply nodded her head lightly before relaxing into the hand that started lightly rubbing into the side of her hair. Her eye landed on the metallic case next to her thigh on the bed, noting that it was both open, and missing a small portion of its contents._

_A cool sensation bombarded the skin around her left eye socket, just outside of the scars that marred the area. The coolness of the gel relaxed the Courier’s facial muscles, the feeling being unbearably relaxing. Why was she worried about this in the first place?_

_Soft circles were rubbed into the skin, before the gel and fingers passed over one of the many jagged scars around the socket. The pain flared in response, worse than the times the scars were lightly touched. It took all of her strength to not flinch away from the contact, the following wince and sucking of air relaying just uncomfortable the feeling was._

_In response, she heard soft reassurances beneath the usual older songs playing through EDI. Veronica’s voice was calming amidst the flurry of pain that seemed to sprout from every blemish._

_As fingers moved on to a new scar, the one previous would slowly slip away from pain and instead sprout a cool sort of pleasure that had been foreign to that area for well over a month. A type of cool pleasure that was rarely felt even back when there was a usable eye in the socket. At some point, the pain faded enough to become a simple background feeling, small and insignificant._

_When fingers moved away from skin, the Courier opened her eye again, having closed it again upon the bombardment of her senses. She watched Veronica’s face as she wiped her hand of the remaining gel that had lingered before fetching the black cloth that was usually wrapped around the now numb section of skin._

_She couldn’t help but notice the strange feeling of the cool gel being pressed into her skin as deft fingers danced around her head, slowly applying the cloth that would once again hide scarred skin from the rest of the world. Hands lingered briefly at the knot before falling away, making the Courier snicker as fingers grazed an ear._

_The sound of the container being closed followed, her eye catching the small metal object in the woman’s hands. She continued watch as the former scribe returned to the bathroom before pushing herself up from the bed._

_Veronica must not have been prepared for the embrace that followed upon her re-entry, tensing lightly at the contact. A clothed forehead rested lightly against Veronica’s, steel grey closed with the content feeling._

_Although she was the one to speak, she barely heard the soft “Thank you” leave her lips._

* * *

Rotary engines of a vertibird quickly disturbed the Courier’s thoughts, her eye focusing on the helmet held in her hands instead. At some point, she had started rubbing at the cloth that patches the opening left by the destroyed left lens. The stitching was fine and reinforced, however it wasn’t perfect. The helmet could never be fully sealed, but it was serving its purpose well enough.

The Courier turned the item over in her hands, staring at the right temple. Strapped to the side was a playing card from the New Vegas Strip’s Ultra Luxe. A queen of spades sat securely, weathered by the elements through the years.

It also happened to be the item responsible for her unwanted nickname amongst the current band of scouts.

“You’ve been staring at that there helmet awfully long, Queeny.” A familiar deep voice cut softly through the silence of the night, the lighter tone likely in respect for those that were currently resting. Her eye shifted to look at the man who spoke, barely moving her head to acknowledge him. “Didn’t I tell you to get some rest?”

The dark skinned man from before sat nearby the fire, his white hair glinting a pale orange in the light. He often said that the flames made him look ten years younger. She never saw it; fire never was all that good at hiding wrinkles. “I’m afraid you didn’t, Randy. Your age is starting to show again.”

A mixture of a laugh and a grunt passed from the dark skinned man’s mouth, his boots lightly crunching the snow underneath as he shifted. Old eyes wandered the room, she noted, taking in every detail. It was moments like these that reminded her that these were people who likely experienced just as much as her.

The Wasteland never discriminated against who it affected, the land always having made life difficult and everyone else merely trying to find a way to survive. These people were no different. For her, it was the Legion. For them, it’s a much smaller, but far scarier foe.

“Get some rest, Queeny.” The Courier turned her head towards the aging man at the sound of his softened voice, locking onto the man’s tired eyes with her own. If anything, the light of the fire only made him appear older. “We got more work tomorrow, you’ll need all the rest available.”

She merely nodded before turning back to the flames, the soft sound of cloth rustling and snow crunching being the only sign of the man’s departure.

She still heard the sound of snow crunching, despite the amount of time passing since Randy’s leaving growing longer. Either another scout was walking the nearby halls, not as quiet as they’d like to think of themselves, or she was hearing another Brotherhood patrol outside. Power-armor was many things, but stealthy was not among them; although, maybe that was the whole point.

The Courier closed her eye and shook her head lightly, the feeling of her shoulder length hair forcing her focus on something other than the two tons of walking metal and frame outside.

She forced herself to focus on any other sensation that wasn’t the danger she felt. They wouldn’t know of their camp as long as she stayed calm. To do that, she focused on the way her hair slid across her skin. The thought of a bath or even a clean cloth and bucket of water was enticing.

Her mind focused on the heat of the rekindled fire, the inside of her armor felt warm and comfortable in the cold ruined city; the insulants were still doing their job well. She focused on the soft snores that were whispered into the air, all the men and women she’d been working with trying to get whatever sleep they possibly could before another dangerous morning. 

Before long, she felt the edges of her senses dull before focusing on the imaginary feeling of shingles beneath a thin shirt and duster.

It was a feeling that wasn’t supposed to exist at that point in time, just like the sound of her companions laughter, and the dry but crisp night-time air of the Mojave. Either way, they exist and only became more real as she drifted.

* * *

_One of these days, she’d eventually have to thank Cliff for providing her with the ladder. Where he managed to find one in this small town is still beyond her understanding._

_Shuffling slightly in her loose shirt, a couple of the roof’s ill-placed shingles pressed into her back uncomfortably. The possession of the ladder suddenly made perfect sense._

_The shopkeeper really should’ve just hired someone to take care of this instead. Raul, out everyone in the small town, could’ve done a better job. She never understood how that ghoul managed to learn anything and everything domestic and mundane in nature. That way, she wouldn’t be sitting here with poorly fixated shingles digging into the base of her back._

_With a small exhale a stream of smoke flitted upwards, the wind quickly blowing it away. The light of the moon gave the Mojave a Mystical sort of bluish glow, being a heavy— and welcome— contrast to the normal reds and browns. The view was certainly worth the discomfort._

_“You know, in the bunker, some of the older knights and scribes told stories of times where the sky was so bright at night that you couldn’t see the stars.”_

_With a chuckle, the Courier turned towards the other voice. Leave it to Veronica to disturb the silence, whether it was awkward or calming. “Is that so?”_

_“Yeah, I never understood what they meant by that. A dark sky full of stars being so bright that said stars wouldn’t shine really didn’t make much sense. It wasn’t until I stayed a couple nights at the Old Fort that I finally understood what they had meant.” Whatever memories brought up by this must not have been happy, and the look on the former scribe’s face soured._

_“The big lights from New Vegas create this sort of pollution in the sky nearby, rendering stars near impossible to see, at least that’s the simple way of describing Vargas’ explanation.” Leave it to Veronica to also make complicated things sound simple. The Courier wondered, if she were to look towards New Vegas would she be able to see the stars beyond it?_

_Turning over onto her left side, her one good eye stared over Veronica’s laid back form. She could not, in fact, see the stars beyond New Vegas’ towering structures and fluorescent lights. Learn something new everyday they used to say._

_A sigh escaped from the woman next to her, causing the Courier’s eye to quickly switch focus. Laying back with her hands clasped over her abdomen, Veronica lazily stared above into the inky darkness, many different small lights speckled about. A loose fitting shirt and pair of slacks wavered lightly in the breeze that seemed to continuously blow by. A dust storm likely brewing some place far enough away to not be a concern at the moment._

_The shirt revealed arms riddled with minor burns and cuts, likely coming from the mechanical and technical work that she often performed. Her dark brown eyes seemed conflicted about something, constantly switching between the many bright lights displayed above._

_Reaching out her right arm, the Courier lightly nudged the former scribe gently, subtly trying to pull the woman from her thoughts. It was always considered dangerous territory where the Brotherhood was concerned._

_Blinking rapidly, Veronica lightly shook her head before turning over to look at the Courier. “Can I see that card you always seem to carry around?”_

_The question wasn’t normal under most circumstances, but it also wasn’t unexpected either. She’d noticed more of Veronica’s interest in her gear as of late, anything from the condition and well being of a weapon she didn’t understand, much like her rifle, to the purely cosmetic band that she wrapped around the cap of her helmet._

_Carefully, the Courier pulled out her ace of spades. A good luck charm that she adopted a couple years prior, after the divide. She wasn’t sure how effective it was, but considering she survived the dam, she was willing to believe it held some sort of effect her luck._

_Good thing too, considering how exceptionally terrible her luck had been up until that point._

_Veronica took the card carefully, understanding its importance. Calm hands turned it over, fingers running smoothly along the surface, as if carefully scanning every little detail available— from the weathered plastic coated paper, to the slightly frayed edges and worn image._

_With her companion’s attention thoroughly engaged, the Courier returned to her previous position: on her back and staring up into the stars. Slight rustling could be heard to her left but she paid Veronica no mind, content to just laze about and lose herself. She could’ve sworn she spotted couple streaks of light cut through the sky._

_“Can I trade you?”_

_This question was neither normal, nor expected for the Courier. Dumbfounded, she only turned her head this time— staring at the woman who just threw her thoughts for a loop._

_Not once had she changed her position from when she received the card, Laying back against the roof with the card in one hand and the other gently running fingers around the edge. If anything, despite the action being strange, Veronica held a calm, almost relaxed air about her._

_Looking towards the former scribe’s eyes showed them to be anything but calm, or relaxed. They shifted quickly, as if the mind behind them was panicking._

_“Trade?” The Courier’s voice came out more defensive than questioning, something that created a noticeable effect on the tinkerer. Her hands lowered as she looked away, fingers ceasing their exploratory caress. Whatever it was about the card that Veronica seemed interested in, the Couriers response was not one she was hoping for. She recognized the look the tinkerer held all too well. Doubt was something that seemed to be common amongst wastelanders, including herself._

_She watched the former scribe close her eyes before taking a deep breath. Dark brown quickly met inquiring grey with a new-found courage; the woman before her quickly sitting up, card gripped tightly— yet carefully— in hand._

_Veronica’s other hand quickly moved to grab something within one of her slack’s pockets. One grey eye watched carefully as the tinkerer searched blindly through the multitude of pockets, dark brown not once leaving or wavering with courage. For whatever reason, the former scribe needed to put on a face, and it was a damn good one._

_The slight widening of eyes gave her away before the movement of her arm; her left hand slowly revealing itself from the pocket with another playing card, the Ultra Luxe symbol adorning the back. Already, the Courier was questioning when she managed to get a playing card from the Ultra Luxe, or when she even managed to get into the New Vegas. The NCR weren’t as stingy as House was— when it came to tourists and patrons at least— yet they still had limitations and screenings._

_Not just anyone could get into New Vegas, it was just made a little easier nowadays._

_“I can practically see the question on your face, just know that Garret helped me get it. James, in case you were wondering.” The Courier’s eye narrowed slightly at the statement. She didn’t exactly believe James to be the charitable kind, especially when it came to helping someone like Veronica get into New Vegas. Judging by the smirk forming across the former scribe’s mouth, she knew this too. “I had a few favors worth ‘cashing in’, as he said.”_

_That smirk turned into a full-blown cocky smile at that, the tinkerer obviously proud of herself. Looking back towards the other card in Veronica’s hand, the Courier felt mild surprise to see the queen of spades facing directly towards her, as well as some confusion._

_Her confusion must’ve been evident on her face, because Veronica immediately sputtered and moved to explain herself. “You see, the last time I was in Freeside, I had this sort of idea that occurred randomly. Back after the dam, you used to always look at that ace for a while with this strange half-smile. I always figured that specific card held some sort of sentimental value from your past so...”_

_An inquiring steel grey eye moved from the queen of spades held in the tinkerer’s hand to the woman’s eyes who now stared down towards said card. Judging from the look that occasionally crossed the tinkerer’s face, the Courier could guess that she was thinking on what to say next, and failing a few times in the process._

_“Curiosity got the better of me as you can ultimately tell, since I started asking around the Old Fort about why someone might pick an ace of spades as some sort of representation of themselves. I got few answers that were blatant attempts to get me to leave them alone, but one of the people there— one of your many strange friends— seemed to immediately figure out who and what I was referring to.” Of course he knew; out of anyone to understand a potential meaning behind a card, the least likely person to expect would be Gannon. Probably why he knows enough about them._

_“Regardless, he only told me that in most card games, the spade was considered to be the highest ranked suit in a deck and that the ace held the highest priority above the others. This all being stuff I’ve known as I’ve basically grown up running around the wastes and Freeside on Brotherhood salvage missions. Then he told me about how some cultures, even nowadays often put meaning behind the individual cards._

_I may have tuned him out at that point, as I didn’t find the rest of the conversation to be all that interesting. He did however urge me to do something kinda like this. Said that you were merely looking for something to resonate with, which I suppose makes some sense. Spades have always had this more hostile perception with their sharp points and curved edges, while aces always seemed to be important, yet alone.” Dark brown immediately looked up from the queen of spades, catching the Courier’s eye._

_“I wanted to give you something that, instead of reminding you that you’re someone extraordinarily dangerous and alone, reminds you that someone wants you to come back. That you’re important not because of that rifle of yours, or because of the brain that creates plans and strategies based off of choke points and positioning. Neither because of the silver tongue that breaks silences and prices aplenty, nor because of that damn heart of yours that seems to ache for anything without parents. Instead, I want you to know you’re important because there’s someone who genuinely cares that you come back.”_

_Surprise couldn’t even begin to explain the myriad of feelings and thoughts circulating the Courier’s head. On the outside, Veronica looked like she was ready to simply duck her head into a hole somewhere, yet one steel grey eye looked to hardened dark brown, searching for any sort of mischief or uncertainty while the Courier attempted to gather their wits._

_There was none._

_“So, to show that I’m important, you want to give me a queen?” Slowly, the Courier crafted a smirk that appeared to cause Veronica’s eyes to widen. Whether that was in alarm or surprise was unknown. “Veronica, are you asking me to be your queen? How scandalous!”_

_Veronica’s face flushed in response, whatever confidence that remained seemed to evaporate immediately. Apparently the teasing had the slight effect that the Courier was looking for, flustering the woman in front of her. She could sense that there was more than just wanting to relay importance, Veronica had made the Courier’s apparent importance very well known through caring moments and equally harsh scoldings._

_“Not… exactly. It was supposed to be the reverse of that, really.” She felt the red flush creep upon her face before she had any indication from Veronica that it was there. The slight smile in response seemed to be the added confirmation._

_Almost as quickly as the smirk appeared, it disappeared shortly after, leaving behind a seriousness that the Courier wasn’t entirely comfortable with. “You’ll always be the ace of the Mojave, or hell, maybe even the western wasteland. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen you come back from near or certain death to complete some odd job, or contract, or mission before disappearing off to who knows where else. You’re practically a hero to most of these people, whether it’s the recruits in the NCR who hear about ‘the savior of the Mojave’, the super mutants in Jacobstown, or even a random farmer who lives on their own or in one of the many scattered dwellings._

_I, on the other hand, am not exactly an ace when it comes to most things. Whereas you’re like a surgical scalpel to a problem, I’m a sledgehammer instead. Sure, I’m great with technology and electrical systems. I can fire energy weapons and brawl with some of the strongest drunks in Freeside, but I can’t take out a target silently from over 200 yards away. I can’t enter a building inconspicuously and sneak around dozens of armed guards who are paid to put a bullet between my eyes. I can’t go to the Divide, and survive everything only to stop a jaded man from nuking the Mojave with words alone.”_

_Looking up towards the dark, eastern horizon, Veronica steeled her gaze again. Her mind was set on its next direction. “I may not be an ace, but I can surely be your queen in comparison. Whatever that means to you is up to your discretion.”_

_The Courier couldn’t help small smile that formed along her lips, actively trying to memorize this moment in time. She watched the tinkerer turn towards her with a new-found certainty in her eyes. Veronica just seemed to be full of surprises today._

_Of course, that didn’t change the fact that there was definitely an ulterior motive behind all of this. The Courier prided herself on being capable of reading people, it’s part of the reason why she’s even capable of being in this situation on the rooftop instead of being dead somewhere off in the Divide as another unfortunate drifter._

_“Veronica, what do you want it to mean? It’s sounding an awful lot like a marriage proposal.” She watched the former scribe carefully, taking note of the way she winced at the words. Veronica was afraid of the possible rejection, which makes total sense all things considered. Hoping to come off as comforting, the Courier carefully held the tinkerer’s shoulder._

_“I know it sounds like a marriage proposal, and honestly Charlotte, that’s not what it is. The old world, and most of its customs died in the war, and I don’t see that changing a great deal. What I want this card to mean, is that you’ll look to someone else when you need it. Like a King with their Queen. Behind a great person, is someone even greater, and I’ve seen it first hand. Half of the things I’ve done to help the Mojave’s people wouldn’t have been possible if I never met you outside of the 188. Whatever dynamic we have now, wherever our friendship is at, I want that to go further. I— ”_

_The Courier squeezed the shoulder her hand rested on, the former scribe carefully raising a calloused hand to cover the sniper’s hand. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Veronica looked back towards the Courier._

_“I want to see what this thing between us could become.”_

_Veronica’s lips quirked upwards, albeit slightly. She was reserved in this moment, scared to show an over abundance of emotion before the Courier’s answer. It was endearing to see her so reserved in this moment._

_Releasing a quiet breath that she didn’t know she held, the Courier slowly lifted her hand from Veronica’s shoulder, taking the former scribe’s hand with. Carefully turning it to not lost contact, they eventually came palm-to-palm before fingers deftly interlocked. She watched the tinkerer’s eyes draw themselves down to their interlocked hands before coming back up to her, catching the soft smile forming across her own lips._

_“Of course, my queen.”_

**Author's Note:**

> For all of you that made it past the decent length summary and long beginning A/N, thank you for your time.
> 
> While this may be something I do enjoy immensely, I'm still working on that whole, "do it consistently to get in a rhythm" outlook of writing. It's still a hobby, but one I'm at least passionate to continue.
> 
> That being said, if you saw anything that you may have liked or disliked, please do comment on it. Praise, while never necessary, does wonders for a writer's confidence, where constructive criticism does even more for them in the future. Any advice is welcome.
> 
> Till next time.


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